


blame

by mizzymouse



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, Insomnia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Chronological, Oral Sex, Paranoia, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Sex, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzymouse/pseuds/mizzymouse
Summary: The Last Battle, and the events that preceded it, were traumatic for the whole world. But they were especially traumatic for those at the center of it. Nobody survived the coming of the Dragon Reborn unscathed, least of all Matrim Cauthon, great general of the Last Battle and Seanchan Prince of the Ravens. His injuries, both physical and mental, will take much longer to heal than they took to occur.





	1. the inflammation of old wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Wheel of Time Big Bang. 
> 
> This fic is non-chronological, most of the chapters are published in the order in which they were written instead of the chronological order. It can be read either way. Chronological order is as follows:  
> respite [8]  
> reopening [3]  
> the inflammation of old wounds [1] (+ hollow [2])  
> cusp [4]  
> pathology [9] (+ disappoint [10])  
> spark [5] & flare [6] (+ confusion [7])  
> the salvation of new scars [11]
> 
> Mat has a lot going on, even in the series, and this fic has a lot of trigger warnings. They will all be listed in the notes at the END of each chapter, so those who want to read without warnings can do so, and those who want to read the warnings can jump to the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duty is often not the source of pain. 
> 
> This chapter is 3rd chronologically.

“ _Blood and bloody…_ ”

Mat muttered the curse, hoping Tuon wouldn’t hear, as unlikely as that was. She didn’t approve of his particular phrasings. But, light blind him, he was in pain. His leg was sore and stiff, the whole joint where his thigh met his hip difficult to move. Although it had set fine after it had been broken, it still bothered him occasionally. Particularly when it was about to rain. Tuon claimed he was more reliable than her omens for predicting the weather. She had offered to have one of the _damane_ heal it, but he had refused. There was little chance it could be Healed properly now, so long after it had healed naturally, since the Power couldn’t do much about scars. He also took some small pleasure in her guilt when he complained about it. Well, it was difficult to find pleasure in anything while he was limping through the Tarasin Palace, _ashandarei_ for a walking stick, but his stiff leg was the fault of her army and their bloody insistence on demolishing a building right on top of him. 

Tuon shot him a glance that could, well, topple a building. They were seated side by side in the main hall of the palace, Mat in a chair much smaller and less plush than the one Tuon presided from. The complexity of his Seanchan regalia didn’t allow him to sit comfortably, with the wide shoulders and stiff material keeping him upright. Today’s audience was quite boring, the complaints dull and routine, and the whole thing felt like it was taking much longer than normal. That was probably the pain, though, since the clocks indicated Mat had only been there for an hour. He shot a glance back at the small, dark woman, surreptitiously rubbing his thigh and trying to reposition his legs. It didn’t help. 

Rain began to hit the windows, softly at first, becoming progressively more violent until droplets were streaming down the stained glass, the soft echo filling the entire room. It was a classic late-summer Ebou Dar storm. The clouds had been rolling in all morning, and Mat was surprised it had taken until early afternoon for them to burst. Surprised and upset. At this rate, it would take until nightfall for the clouds to completely empty themselves and the storm to blow out. Until then, he was stuck with his pain. The audience would probably take until nightfall, based on the quiet throng of petitioners corralled outside of the hall’s doors, visible for just a moment as each party left and the next was led in. Min, seated on the other side of Tuon, clumsily signaled a comment in the Seanchan hand-language she used as Tuon’s Truthspeaker. Her hand was caught in the sleeve of her coat, the meaning of the movement hidden. A more confident answer was flashed back, the movements too quick for Mat to catch except for a few signs that indicated their discussion was about the menu for a dinner meeting with some of the Seanchan Blood. _Chicken, I think that one meant, with all the pointing, and now they’re on to wine…_ Kaf _, that one definitely meant_ kaf _, and that was a name of some dignitary Tuon always complains about, the sign for his name is remarkably close to one for a curse…_

Tuon and Min seemed to have also given up on paying attention to the audience, though their hand-talk communications seemed important to anyone who didn’t know what they were saying. Min had been teaching Mat a little of the language. She needed someone to practice with, and Mat didn’t like the two of them talking about him without him knowing about it. And he was a common topic of conversation when the audiences became dull beyond belief. Tuon had devised a special name-gesture for Mat, two fingers held together that were pointed towards the left side of her face, then pointed downward. It was one of the few that he looked for, since it meant their conversation was of interest to him. Not that he could glean much from it, he was still not very good at interpreting the quick flashes of their fingers, and the voluminous sleeves of their regalia hid some of the nuances from his view. But he could follow Tuon’s train of thought, Min’s halting commentary, the general tone of the conversation. Fingers were remarkably good at conveying layers of meaning; a quick jab or a subtle twirl meant just as much as a quiet hiss or a sensual sigh. 

Mat turned away just as Tuon glanced at him. He hoped she had not noticed his eavesdropping on her conversation. But as he kept watching out of the corner of his eye, she shifted back to talk with Min, flashing Mat’s name-sign at the other woman. Mat avoided watching closely for a moment longer, but the new conversation topic surprised him when he finally looked back and paid enough attention to understand what was going on. It appeared that Tuon was complaining about, of all things, her sex life. With Mat right next to her! It was quite common for either woman to mention him, but not like this. Either Tuon really had no idea Mat was learning some of her hand-talk, which was unlikely, or she wanted to him to know the content of the ‘private’ conversation she was having with Min. She wasn’t so much complaining as asking for Min’s advice. He could only understand every third or fourth sign. Something, it appeared, about how Mat complained about being tired instead of being with her, how he stayed out too late drinking and dicing, was the relationship just getting stale? _Tuon’s never been with anyone besides me,_ Mat remembered, frowning. _And who else would she ask for advice from but Min?_  

Tuon waited patiently for Min to formulate a response, knowing she was not yet fluent in the finger-language and a complicated question had been asked. She seemed worried, like she genuinely wanted Min’s opinion. Min finally noticed Mat watching them, noticed his frown, and blushed, refusing to meet Mat’s gaze. _Have I made a mistake, confiding in her? Blood and ashes, I_ need _someone to talk to around here, but I’ve put a lot of trust in her, told her a lot of things I was reluctant to tell_ anyone _just a few months ago._ Min’s hesitation prompted Tuon to signal a few more words, to ‘voice’ her thought to herself as much as for Min. The meaning of this Mat understood instantly. He could almost hear Tuon saying the phrases as his brain picked together the words into something that was recognizable as her speech. They had discussed this before, he knew what she would say on the topic. 

“ _The miscarriage? Could that still be bothering him? But it was months ago, it was more of a problem for me than for him, and I am fine._ ”

As the Last Battle raged, more than a year ago, Tuon had found out from Min’s visions that she was indeed pregnant. Mat had not known what to think. He wasn’t prepared to be a father, and the idea of bringing a child into a world so volatile made him feel sick. And what if the child was a girl, and could channel? Tuon could learn, Mat knew, since she could train _damane_ , but Seanchan opinions of channelers were strict. These concerns ravaged his every thought until two months later, when Min’s visions revealed Tuon was to have a miscarriage. Not uncommon, especially this early on, but this news jarred Mat as much as it was a relief to him. 

Min blushed more deeply, visibly stuttering. Sensing the other woman’s discomfort, Tuon steered the conversation in a different direction, asking about Min’s paramour and their relationship. This topic Min had scripted responses for, as it was one she liked to avoid. Some of her response was lies, but small ones, designed not to attract attention. _I know who he is,_ Mat thought. _It’s Rand, he’s here every other week, comes in late at night by gateway from Caemlyn and stays for a night or two before taking another gateway back_. Mat had seen his old friend, now darker of coloring, a few times since they had first encountered each other in Caemlyn a few months prior. Min was relieved, in much the same way Mat was, that they could finally speak openly to each other about their secrets. But Tuon was not privy to that information, and neither of them were planning on filling her in anytime soon. 

The next audience was arriving, and Mat was glad for the distraction. If he had to stay here for a few more hours he wanted to pay as little attention as possible to conversations about himself. Two men dressed in the garb of Andoran merchants bowed deeply, explaining their issue about the prices of tabac. Their argument was nonsense, and Mat knew it. They were simply trying to cheat the farmers who supplied them and wanted the support of the Seanchan in doing it. Before Tuon could respond, Mat stood to speak, lightning crackling outside the rain-drenched windows. The thunder boomed just as he began to speak, highlighting the frustration in his voice. First his leg, which had progressed to a steady throb, then Tuon and her concern, always talking around him instead of asking him directly, and now these merchants trying to capitalize on Seanchan ignorance of local business customs in order to cheat farmers. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to speak unless the matter expressly concerned him, which this one didn’t, but enough was enough. 

The merchants gaped, an Andoran man in an eyepatch and regalia of the Seanchan High Blood dressing them down in front of a room full of shocked and scandalized Seanchan Blood, including the Empress herself, may she live forever. But dress them down he did, until they again bowed, but this time in shame or anger or some combination of the two. The end of Mat’s monologue was punctuated by another flash of lighting, thunderous crash on its heels shaking the entire Tarasin Palace. He turned to grab his _ashandarei_ , shooting Tuon a look rivaling her own, and limped awkwardly out a side door behind the chairs.

The silence he had created followed him into the hall, up a few flights of stairs, and though another maze of corridors. The soft patter of rain against the windows contrasted the hard _thunk, thunk_ of the butt of his spear-turned-walking-staff on the tile floors, still bare even this late in the summer. Two servants-slash-guards stood outside the double doors leading to the royal apartments, their innocent appearance hiding their deadly knowledge. Not that Mat was deceived; he knew enough ways to kill a man to recognize another with that knowledge. They swung the doors open as he approached, looking through the space he occupied rather than at him, and gently closed the massive wood panels after he cleared the doorway. 

Finally alone, Mat could let his frustration and pain show. He twisted the _ashandarei_ around in his grasp, letting out a feral roar as he flung the spear across the room and into a tapestry. There was a soft slicing noise as the impossibly-sharp blade slid through the fabric and into the plaster wall behind it. The scene on the tapestry was from a Seanchan story of a famous battle, not one Mat knew, but the theme was recognizable across history and culture. The great battle general leading his troops to victory, conquering the enemy’s land. The shaft of the weapon stuck out from the chest of the leader, a man in some sort of darkly colored Seanchan uniform. Mat remembered his own uniform, then, and tugged it off as quickly as possible as he stumbled into the bedchamber, finally landing facedown in the feather mattress in his smallclothes, otherwise bare except for the black scarf still tied firmly around his neck. 

_I will not lie here in self-pity and cry_. But he made no effort to move, to call for a servant to bring him anything, to get up and pull his _ashandarei_ from the wall _._ Instead, he twisted around until he lay facing the windows, leg made more comfortable by an extra pillow positioned just right, and watched the rain fall. Eventually his breathing steadied, the rain pattering a soft rhythm against the windows, and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of squalling infants and Aes Sedai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of past injuries, pain, miscarriage, and depression.


	2. hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interlude

She kissed the hollow behind his ear, the hollow of his neck, feeling his pulse beat a steady rhythm under his skin. He rolled over, towards her, towards her touch and warmth. She kissed the hollow of his collarbone. Smooth bone under warm skin. She ran a hand through his hair, over his cheek, around his jaw. Smooth bone, sharply angled bone, warm skin. She kissed his lips, soft and warm. 

He mumbled something, shrugging away from her touch and her warmth. He felt hollow. The kind of hollow her affection could not fill. Even though he wanted it to.


	3. reopening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit home.
> 
> This chapter is 2nd chronologically.

Mat absentmindedly scratched the back of his head, where the hair from the base of his neck up to his ears had been shaved to the scalp. Tuon had been at his throat for a month about shaving his head, saying is was _proper and necessary_ for the Prince of the Ravens to conform to the Seanchan High Blood dress code. For the most part, he had, wearing traditional regalia (with his hat, scarf, and eyepatch) when his official appearance was necessary, but his hair was another matter. He liked it long, was quite fond of tying it up in a bun when he wanted it out of the way. His hair also covered the hanging scar, when he wore it down around his shoulders. The black scarf he always wore only hid the front of the scar. The irregular mark slanted up, reaching higher in the back onto his scalp despite being centered on the front of his neck, a thick line of pinkish rope-textured skin that contrasted with the smooth tan flesh around it.

To be honest, he felt a little naked with even a little bit of his neck exposed. But the haircut had been a compromise measure, and it made Tuon happy. There was a break in the stubble where the scar mingled with his hairline, the harder tissue refusing to grow new hair. Mat found the stubble relaxing, in a way, the sharpness of the new growth pushing into his fingertips. Sometimes things could be stopped, broken, destroyed, but new growth would rise around the broken parts, compensating for the death that bordered it. Everything would be made new again. 

Tuon bounced around the room, her movements a great dance of dressing and ordering servants and issuing commands for members of the Blood. Min, close at hand as Tuon’s Truthspeaker, stood to one side, eyeing Tuon warily as she fluttered from person to person like a nervous and demanding butterfly. Mat had finally talked Tuon into going to visit the Two Rivers. The shockwaves of the Last Battle had finally settled, though the memories of those events, less than six months past, were still fresh. Mat had not been home in over two years, now, had not seen his mother or father, his sisters, anyone from Emond’s Field besides those who left with him. Min would stay behind in Ebou Dar to keep a watch over things, but Mat and Tuon would be gone for a least a night if not two. It was the first time during the new Age that Tuon had left her people and she was worried, though she would not admit it. Worried not only about the affairs of the Seanchan but about meeting Mat’s family, his people. Her regal status would not matter to the stubborn Two Rivers folk. 

The letters Perrin had sent to Mat (via gateway, which made for a very efficient mail delivery system) said the people had rebuilt, refugees from other areas bringing new prosperity to the downcountry. The Two Rivers was now a proper town, lord and all. No specifics had been given about the state of the original Emond’s Field residents, besides that everyone was well. Tuon’s anxiety made Mat want to laugh, but his own anxiety stopped him. It wasn’t just his appearance. What would his parents say about his outlander wife? His titles, his army, his accomplishments? His failures? The conversation had played a thousand times in his mind last night, a thousand different ways, interspersed with the memories of other men. Memories of homecomings, some joyous, some sad, some devastating. He was a great general from a long-forgotten kingdom, greeted at the gates of the citadel by a raucous, laughing crowd as a hero. He was a soldier from a lordly house, returning home from a war to find his manor destroyed and his kin dead, crops burned and animals slaughtered. 

He was a simple man, a commoner, who rose to great ranks through skill and leadership, arriving home to find nothing had changed. His farm still stood, his sheep grazing in the pasture, his family going about their day as if no time had passed. And then he woke up. 

 

Some time later, the mismatched pair found themselves standing outside an outbuilding besides Perrin’s home in Emond’s Field, which had become the designated traveling location for the area. Mat still found it strange, in a way, to walk through a doorway and find yourself halfway across the continent. Even after all this time, he was still wary of the Power touching him. Tuon was a little shaken as well, uncomfortable around Aes Sedai or any other Power users who weren’t Seanchan and collared. The young Andoran woman who had opened a gateway for them from the Two Rivers side wore the white dress of an Accepted, long in the sleeves to protect her against the late autumn chill. Mat supposed the White Tower was sending them on shifts now, for practice.  

Tuon smoothed her skirts and glanced up at Mat, waiting on him for direction. He had talked her into wearing a Two Rivers style dress as well, nicer than any woman would wear on a feast day, but traditional none the less. The deep green of the fine wool was accented with blue and gold embroidery, the design some sort of Seanchan good luck omen, which covered the entirety of the bodice and most of the sleeves. Her thick woolen cloak, so dark green it was almost black, was similarly embroidered. The small woman had also consented to call him Matrim for the duration of the trip, instead of his Seanchan name Knotai, and to allow him to call her Tuon instead of Fortuona in front of others. He always called her Tuon in private, which she was finally starting to accept, but her sense of formality was much stronger when outside of their private apartments in the Tarasin Palace. 

Mat adjusted his scarf, fingering the stubble on the back of his neck. He had left his hat behind, opting to tie his hair up instead, but he kept his black scarf firmly around his neck. He too was wearing traditional clothing, though cut much more nicely and with more lace than anything he used to own, his cloak lined with rabbit fur. The _ashandarei_ he also carried, loathe to let the thing out of his sight. 

He set out down the paved lane that ran from the front of Perrin’s home towards the center of the town. The lord’s residence was not quite done, some of the wings still under construction, but the main house was finished, the whitewash fresh on the plaster. The town was unfamiliar, buildings taller and with tiled roofs, roads paved with stones instead of the packed dirt he remembered. People milled about, many more than in the past, and few of them were natives of the Two Rivers. The area had become popular with outlander refugees, and though the bulk of the population remained Andoran, many townsfolk were from elsewhere. Still, despite the changes, the place felt familiar to Mat even after two years. The houses were in the same style, steep roofs, large windows, and a plot for each family’s garden and sheep, occasionally a full-fledged farm between two of the wooden structures, the late-season crops ready for harvest. The Winespring Inn still stood on one side of the green, though it wasn’t very green any longer. A large section of the area had been paved over, and the remaining grass was brown from the cold, though no frost or snow had appeared yet. To be honest, it was more of a town square than a village green. 

Mat let his his mind wander, surveying the changes of Emond’s Field, and before long found himself standing in front of the door to a house he had never seen in his life. Glancing back, he found Tuon at his shoulder, concern ruining her attempt to look calm and collected. She reached out and placed her hand firmly in the crook of Mat’s elbow. Her presence was reassured him. Muscle memory said this was his home, despite the tile roof and fresh timber. Perrin had said Mat’s parents had rebuilt in the same location as the original house, which had been destroyed in the Trolloc attack not quite three years previous. He reached out and knocked, only hesitating slightly before letting his fist connect with the wood panel door once, twice, and a third time for good measure. 

There was a rustling, the sounds of something falling to the wooden floor, a muffled curse. The door swung inward to reveal a woman who looked surprisingly like Mat, if half a head shorter. Natti Cauthon had aged over the past few years, her hair now streaked with grey, but her eyes were as bright as they had always been. Those eyes narrowed, inspecting the pair of individuals before her. Mat had expected immediate recognition, but he supposed he did look quite different than he did when he had left Emond’s Field that fateful night. He had grown a little, perhaps an inch or so taller, and his figure had filled out. Although still spindly, he looked more like an adult than the child he had been. The fine clothes he wore certainly helped his facade of maturity. He grinned, sheepishly. 

“Hello, Ma.” Natti’s eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly. Mat was about to speak again when his mother shouted, turning her head just slightly to direct the sound into the house. 

“Abell? Abell, come here!”

Mat lifted himself up on his tiptoes to glance over his mother and into the house, finding his father walking up to the door, the tone of his wife’s voice making him hurry. The elder Cauthon’s face lit up at Mat’s little wave and smile. The two had seen each other during the aftermath of the Last Battle, Abell and Tam al’Thor organizing the Two Rivers soldiers’ efforts and Mat managing the Seanchan troops. _Da still hasn’t met Tuon, we didn’t have time during the cleanup_ , Mat thought, smile fading. He hadn’t even had a full conversation with his father, their time together limited to a hug and a few words of assurance before they parted again. 

“Matrim Cauthon, where have you been?” Natti started in, her voice steadily rising to something most would describe as shrill. “Your father went off to find you, all the way to Tar Valon, and got turned away, told you had already left! Cryptic conversations with Perrin, after he came back for the first time, was all we got about your whereabouts! I’ve been worried sick!” She kept going, something about the letter he had sent a few months ago, a single page explaining Mat would try to visit soon but revealing no valuable information. 

Mat cringed, looking to his father for advice, but Abell’s face had the same expression. Tuon looked worriedly between the three Cauthons, not quite sure what to do besides tighten her hand around Mat’s arm. It was another solid minute before Natti trailed off. 

“And Mat, blood and ashes, what happened to your eye?”

“Oh, that, uh… That’s a long sto-“ Mat couldn’t even finish his sentence before his breath was knocked out of him by his mother’s hug. She was crying, tears soaking into Mat’s shirt, and Mat looked to his father again. Abell shrugged. 

“Ma… Ma, let go, please, you’re making it hard to breath.” Natti let herself be pried off, face flushed. “I’m here, it’s me. I’m in one piece, mostly. I know I haven’t been keeping in touch but I couldn’t, so much was going on, I’m sorry about that. So much has happened. I’ll tell you all about it, but it’s cold, let’s get inside.” 

She nodded, letting herself be led back into the house. The scent of fresh honeycakes wafted from the kitchen, and Mat licked his lips. He hadn’t had one of his mother’s honeycakes in almost three years. Imitations of them, yes, but never ones as good as his mother made. Upon closer inspection, the inside of the house looked quite similar to the one he remembered. Everything was fresh and new, the furniture still giving off the scent of sap. Some rooms had been swapped in location, the kitchen now on the right of the doorway instead of the left, but everything was in the same style as it had been, down to the color of the chair cushions. A few items had survived the fire: a shoe from one of his father’s prize-winning horses hung on the wall, a tinker-mended copper pot nestled among others, some of the books on the shelves with ash in their pages. It was different, but it still felt like home. Mat let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  

It was just then he realized his mother and father had not moved beyond the doorway. They were looking at him, then at Tuon, almost expectantly. Mat had forgotten to introduce her. _I wonder who they think she is_ , Mat thought. _They probably think she’s my outlander wife, at least, but how much do they know of the Seanchan? Tuon agreed I should give them some of that information, but how much will they understand?_

“Ma, Da…” He cleared his throat, glancing at Tuon for reassurance. She looked just as worried as he felt, totally out of her element. “This is Tuon, my wife.” He smiled at his parents, hoping the grin would hide his fears about their reaction. 

Characteristically, Natti rushed forward and gathered the smaller woman into a hug. Tuon looked a little afraid, but at a reassuring smile from Mat returned the gesture, though not as hard. _Had she ever been hugged by her mother? I doubt it, maybe a nanny showed her some affection, but if what she says about Seanchan hierarchy is true, she didn’t know her mother, never mind got any affection out of the woman. Well, she’ll get used to it soon enough_. Abell waved Mat into the kitchen, leaving the two women alone for a few moments while Mat assisted in preparing tea and warming some leftover soup for dinner. Everything really did feel like home. 

 

Mat sat in a chair, head hanging down, gently rubbing the stubble on the back of his neck. Bowls from hours earlier sat on a nearby table, remaining soup congealing despite the heat of the nearby fire. After the niceties had ended, his mother had managed to tease the whole story out of him - leaving the Two Rivers with Moiraine, the dagger at Shadar Logoth, getting separated from the others, finding himself in Tar Valon with no memory of the journey. Rand finding out he was the Dragon Reborn. Following his friend into the Waste to meet the Aiel. He left out the parts with the Finn, preferring to let his parents think his injuries came from battles he had fought. Olver he left out as well; the boy was safe in Caemlyn with Talmanes and the remainder of the Band, and he and Mat traded letters every few days. Perrin left the little group about then, right after everything at Tear, and Mat soon found himself in Ebou Dar. 

Now he let the conversation take a tangent, explaining everything about Tuon and the Seanchan. She took some of the pressure off of him, then, since she knew those events better than him. Tylin was conveniently talked around as well. Everything from then on was a blur: he avoided mentioning Jain Farstrider and the Tower of Ghenjei, skimmed over Seanchan marriage custom, and arrived at last at the events of the Last Battle, most of which his parents already knew. 

The whole telling took several hours, and by the time he finished it was well after dark. At times, Mat had to stop, anxiety overwhelming him, but besides a gentle hand on his shoulder no mention was made of this. His bad leg was cramped from sitting in the chair for so long, his voice a little hoarse. It was therapeutic, easing the rawness of the memories, even though he left some things out. Tuon had caught his gaze at those parts, sensing his omissions, but let him proceed without interruption.

After a time of silence, Mat’s mother rose, collecting the dishes and giving her husband instructions on which bedroom to lead Mat and Tuon to. It was about the same size as Mat’s childhood room, but its furnishings were without any personal marks. Mat’s things, as few as they had numbered, had been burned in the fire. The bed was larger, comfortably fitting two people while Mat’s old bed had been almost too narrow for one. Abell left the the two of them alone, sparing them any uncomfortable glances. Mat waited until he heard his father’s footsteps descending the stairs before visibly relaxing. Tuon, too, let her guard down, slumping onto the feather mattress and pulling at the buttons on the back of her dress.

After a few minutes of yawning and undressing they shuffled together under the covers, pressing close for warmth. Everything was quiet, Tuon’s soft breathing a comfort to Mat’s nerves. 

“Matrim?” Tuon whispered, barely loud enough for Mat to hear. He was almost asleep and didn’t react to her voice. 

“Mat?” 

This time, she spoke a little louder, and Mat flinched, fully awake. She never called him that, had never called him that. 

“Yes?” He whispered back, surprised. 

“Thank you. For insisting on this trip, for meeting your parents. For telling your story.” She rolled towards him, snuggling closer into his side. 

“Oh,” he sighed. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Sleep well.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, fresh stubble of her shaved scalp abrasive and familiar against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussions of past trauma.


	4. cusp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warn the crew before you alter the course. 
> 
> This chapter is 4th chronologically.

_“Ahh… mm, yeah, a little harder…”_

_“Like that?”_

_“Yeah, that… Oh, yeah, definitely that, ohh…”_

Mat lazily cupped the side of Tuon’s face, rubbing circles into her check with his thumb as she licked little circles with the tip of her tongue onto the underside of his dick, slowly, higher, higher, harder, until she found that ( _ohhhhh_ ) sweet spot right under the head, pushing hard with the flat of her tongue, warm and wonderful. He twitched, involuntarily, searching for more pressure, more of that warmth, and moaned a little as Tuon pulled away. She laughed, quiet and breathy, and licked away the line of spit that trailed from his tan skin, flushed pink with blood, to her darker lips, similarly flushed. He held her head more firmly, hoping the pressure from his palm conveyed exactly what he wanted, but never pressed hard, his touch always gentle.

A few fingers pulling on the curve of her jaw drew her back and she sank her mouth, slowly but firmly, as far down his cock as she could manage. Mat could feel her grin as she pressed her tongue into _that_ spot again and he made an unhappy sound, his hips bucking unconsciously, urging her to move. She rose up, pulling in her cheeks, and sunk back down, slowly at first but quickly picking up momentum. Soon he was tugging at the sheets with one hand and hiding his face with the other, still a little embarrassed over the noises he couldn’t stop himself from making. 

Tuon had convinced him, finally, to take off his scarf and eyepatch when they had sex. In some ways it was freeing, being comfortable enough to let himself be who he was, scars and all, in his wife’s company, but he also felt exposed without that last shred of protection he was so used to. He pushed those thoughts away, focusing on how nice Tuon’s mouth felt around his dick. _Oh, Light… so nice, so warm, ohh yes right there…_

He moaned again, louder this time, the sound almost painful. _If I keep going like this_ , Tuon thought, _this will be over soon, and I don’t want it to be over soon._ She was neglecting herself in favor of focusing on him, and her clit practically throbbed with need. She couldn’t resist slipping a hand between her thighs, humming with pleasure as she found the right spot, fingers moving in little circles. Mat’s breath hitched at the change in sensation, his fingers curling on her scalp, and it was almost too much. Tuon knew what that meant from experience and took her mouth from around him with a dramatic _pop!_ sound, sitting back to focus on herself while he caught his breath. 

Mat scrubbed a hand though his hair, Tuon’s small moans bringing him back around. When he finally looked up, his view was lovely: she was lounged against a pile of pillows, one hand teasing her clit in small circles and the other a fist, clutching a pillow so hard he thought it might burst. He rocked himself up and over, planting his knees firmly between her legs, and sucked a row of kisses into her neck. Her head lolled back as he nuzzled at her collarbone, her feet wrapping around his legs, pulling him closer.

It took only a moment for him to be inside her, and a few more moments after that to establish a steady pace that made them both breathe a little harder. Tuon rocked up into him as he thrust downward, and they met in the middle, his breath hot on her neck. They had gotten good at this, despite having not done it in a few weeks, the pattern familiar. A squelching noise or badly-timed thrust sent them off track every once in a while, but they quickly found each other again.  

To be honest, Tuon was getting bored. Oh, how she liked the look on Mat’s face when they found just the right spot, the right rhythm, the noises he made when she proved she had learned exactly how to make his body vibrate with pleasure. He did the same to her, but it was the _same_ , every time. Was it getting stale? Was she boring him? She wanted something different this time, something new. 

His thrusting lapsed momentarily, his knee slipping on the smooth fabric of the sheets, and Tuon took the opportunity to flip Mat over onto his back. She would be on top, for a change. He looked up at her, surprised as always that she was so much stronger than she looked, and she grinned mischievously down at him. 

 

_What is she doing?_ He barely had time to think before Tuon started the rhythm back up, riding him, and his thoughts were drowned out by the sheer sensation of it all. Everything still felt _so good,_ the warmth, the friction, her hands tangled in his hair. But her grin, her lips against his collarbone, the faint feeling of her teeth trailing across his skin jarred him out of the experience. He grabbed at her shoulders, gently, trying to get her attention. 

“Uh, Tuon?”

She ignored him, not sensing his discomfort, and his breathing quickened, but not out of pleasure. The only recognition she showed was to take one of his hands from her shoulder and replace it on her waist. She intended for him to caress her, explore her body in ways he usually did not, but he was no longer interested in her waist or hips. _Tuon, I need you to stop now… this isn’t… I don’t want… please, can we stop…_ His protests, so strong in his thoughts, failed to reach his lips. _Why isn’t she noticing? I want her to stop._

“Hey, Tuon, can you-” He pulled at her shoulders again, harder this time, but in a blink of an eye she took his wrists, encircling them with her fingers, and pressed them into the mattress, holding him down so she could continue her ministrations, eyes closed, moaning faintly with every exhale. 

Mat froze. 

The pressure of Tuon’s nails on the back of his wrists were like red-hot needles, and he felt crushed, though she didn’t weigh much. He couldn’t breathe. _I need to get out of here, I need to leave, this is bad, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong I need to leave I need to leave I need-_

She stopped, then, finally opening her eyes to look down at him in confusion. His face was a blank mask, single remaining eye wide, pupil blown, but not from pleasure. He pushed his wrists weakly against her palms and she rolled off of him, landing haphazardly beside him. Before she could talk he leaped up, grabbing his clothes from their neat pile on a nearby bench and pulling on his pants. 

“I-I-I need t-to go,” he stuttered, yanking his shirt over his head.

“What’s wrong? Matrim?” He stumbled into one boot, not bothering to lace it, and then the other.

“It’s n-n-not, s-s-sorry, sorry.”

The door to the sitting room flung open as he scrambled out of the bedchamber, the flood of lamplight coming through the doorway catching the sweat on his forehead. Tuon heard the outer door open as well, then close with a soft _thump_. What had happened? Where was he going?

She sighed. He would probably come back, later in the night, too drunk to have a conversation about whatever was bothering him. This had happened before, but never during sex, and never without an obvious cause. Some person he had been avoiding, a situation or conversation he didn’t want to be involved him, would send him into a fit of anxiety. Sometimes it was too much, and he would make an excuse to leave, practically running from the room. Other times, he would try to press through it, confront whatever was bothering him, overcome it, but collapse later when he was alone with Tuon. His reaction concerned her. She traced through what had happened in her mind, trying to find a reason for his behavior, soon falling asleep despite her racing thoughts. 

 

Mat ran from the apartments, almost tripping over the laces of his boots, and stumbled down the nearest staircase. _I need to leave I need to leave I need fresh air, yes, air, the garden, need to get out of here need-_

A few stories down, a few turns, a single wooden door and he was out into the humid night air. The Tarasin Palace had several gardens, this being one of the larger, tall trees bordering the palace wall. He collapsed behind one of those trees, facing the wall, his vision spinning, chest still tight. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, concentrating on his shaking fingers and the sweat on his scalp, concentrating on breathing in, air thick and laden with moisture, and breathing back out again. It was another few minutes before the dizziness faded and his chest no longer felt like he was being sat on.

_That hasn’t happened since… Tylin._ Even thinking the name made him want to retch. _Light, I thought I was over that, I thought I could feel vulnerable around Tuon, in that room, in that bed._ He rose, using the tree as support, and walked out of the nearest gate and onto the streets of Ebou Dar. The guards paid him no mind - they were used to Mat occasionally sneaking out to dice and drink where nobody would recognize him as the Prince of the Ravens. They were, however, a tad surprised to see him out and about without his characteristic hat, scarf, and eyepatch, not that they showed any surprise. 

Mat wandered for a while, alone with his thoughts, just another man going to a tavern for a drink. He felt like his whole body was on display, scars visible to the masses, but his place in the crowd made him anonymous. He did not enter any of the taverns, would not have even if he had brought money with him. Thinking with a clear head was more important. A few hours later, his body unconsciously brought him back to the palace’s front gates. The guards waved him inside despite the late hour. 

A few corridors, staircases, and guarded doors later, he pushed open the door to the bedchamber of his apartments. Tuon was asleep, her back to him. Her breathing was steady, quiet even in the silent room. 

Mat walked to the foot of the bed, fists clenching and unclenching. _Tylin’s bed, my bed, the bed I share with Tuon. She never got rid of it, never saw a need, I never gave her a reason. Oh, Light. The royal apartments, Tylin’s apartments._ He needed to have this conversation even if he didn’t want to. He fought to keep his hands from shaking, to keep his breathing under control. Tuon rolled over, glaring up at him from her tangle of sheets. 

“Matrim? What time is it? Are you drunk?”

“No, uh, I haven’t been drinking. I need to talk to you. About earlier.” 

She sat up, gathering a blanket around her, and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t, I-I uh… I’m sorry. I need to explain, well, a lot of things. About… about before, back before we really knew each other. About Tylin.” He gulped, fidgeting. He had never, never told anyone about this. Not all of it, at least. Not the worst of it. Having this conversation in the same room where he had been with Tylin all that time, where Tylin had died, made it worse in some ways. But he needed to tell Tuon about everything. He would only feel better if someone else knew, could only move on if his mind was finally cleared. 

He did explain it, haltingly, the abuse, withholding food, the sex he didn’t want to have, Beslan’s misunderstanding of his predicament. Tylin’s knives, the clothes she made him wear, the names she called him. Tuon was there for some of that, but despite her interest in Mat she paid very little attention his daily affairs. 

Mat explained, last, how Tylin had died, and how he had discovered her death. And now he was here, in that room, with his wife, as if nothing had happened. A few tears rolled down his cheek, and he brushed them away with a shaking hand. 

“Oh, Matrim. Mat.” Tuon scooted back on the bed, making room for Mat to sit next to her, and when he sagged down she rested a hand on his knee. “I realize… that was hard for you. I appreciate you telling me.”

He sighed, a pressure he had been holding for a long time finally off of his shoulders, and pressed his forehead into Tuon’s collarbone. She cupped the back of his head and scratched absentmindedly at the stubble of his undercut. A few tears dropped onto her skin. 

“I will get rid of the bed in the morning, replace it. I should have done it earlier but with everything that happened there was very little time for redecorating. But I must ask something of you.”

“Hmm?” He murmured sleepily into her skin, tired now that his anxiety had abated. He had relaxed, no longer taut and shaky. 

“Please, in the future, tell me about these things. I know that might be difficult, but I promise I only want to make you comfortable. And safe.”

“I’ll try, Tuon.” He let out one last heavy, shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

He kicked off his boots, snuggling in next to her, still mostly clothed. Not everything could be fixed, but sometimes he could share his burdens, make them lighter, easier to carry. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for sex, mild dubcon, anxiety attacks, and discussions of past rape.


	5. spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assumption leads to misconception. 
> 
> This chapter is 6th chronologically.

Tuon awoke to a flash of lightning. It had been raining for two days straight, not unusual for Ebou Dar in early autumn, but certainly annoying. She usually slept very soundly, but the frequent crashes of thunder had kept her from sleeping through the night. The space next to her in the bed was empty. _Where was Matrim?_ He had been here when she had come to bed, sound asleep. There was no light coming from the bath chamber, no candle or lantern, so he wasn’t in there. Nothing unusual from the sitting room, just darkness. 

She got up and shuffled to the entrance to the apartments, opening the wide wooden doors enough to stick her head out. The guards were at their usual posts, once on each side of the entranceway, staring blankly into the middle distance. Aside from the regular lightning strikes, the hallway was dark. Same as always. 

“Where did he go?” The guards were used to keeping tabs on the Prince of the Ravens. He was fond of disappearing for the night to drink and dice, a habit Tuon had long since learned to tolerate but never to encourage. Besides, he rarely left this late, and loathed to go far in the rain. His leg bothered him especially badly in these downpours. 

“Down the hall,” the guard on the left drawled, pointing into the shadowy darkness to Tuon’s right. 

“He seemed… distraught,” the other added. They resumed their previous poses as if they had never spoken. 

The direction that had been indicated did not lead to any of the usual places Tuon would look - the stairway that led down to the kitchens, any of the ways Matrim took to leave the palace, and the Traveling grounds was along the hall to the left. The only location of any importance along the right hall was the _soe’feia_ ’s apartments. _Matrim and Elmindreda are close friends, would he be there, this late at night?_ Thunder rattled the windows. Tuon slipped into the hallway, letting the doors close behind her softly, and strode into the darkness. 

A few moments later she found herself outside of Elmindreda’s rooms, double doors just as large but not nearly as ornate as the entrance to her own apartments. The walls here were surprisingly thin, some quality of the plaster and wood that allowed loud conversations to be heard clearly from outside. She did not dare to barge in unannounced and disturb the Truthspeaker’s privacy, but a little eavesdropping would hurt no one, assuming everyone was asleep. She pressed an ear to the wall on the side of the doors, approximately where the bedchamber would share a wall with the hallway. 

It took a moment to adjust to the sounds, but clearly everyone was not asleep. A thick _thud_ indicated someone sitting down on a mattress, hard. There were muffled voices, a quiet conversation Tuon could barely make out. At least two voices, maybe three. One was Elmindreda, pitched much higher than the others. The others were… was that Matrim? There was another deeper tone, one she did not recognize, but she could assume it was the Truthspeaker’s secretive lover who visited occasionally. _But what is Matrim doing here?_ The whole situation was confusing. More voices, a few louder words, was that laughter? Another _thud_ , the shuffle of people moving around on a bed. 

Tuon took her ear from the wall, fully prepared to storm in and find out exactly what was happening, but before she could move towards the door the sounds from inside became loud enough to hear through the wall. That sharp sound she had heard wasn’t laughing, it was… crying? _It’s Matrim, crying, in Elmindreda’s apartments?_ She pressed her ear back to the wall. The guard had said he seemed upset. They were speaking louder now, still muffled but loudly enough to get most of the conversation if she listened carefully. 

“I thought we had solved this… The Aes Sedai Healed him, a while ago…” This was the deeper voice, the mysterious paramour. _They know each other? Never mind, I’ll investigate that later._

“But it was destroyed?” _Elmindreda, her voice is easy to pick out._

“Not then, but later, yes. It’s definitely gone now. The whole city is gone, and so is its taint…

“I don’t think it matters if it’s destroyed or not.” There was a sniff and a cough, obviously Matrim. “They couldn’t fix it all the way. I remember that clearly, at least. Oh, Light, Min… What do I do? I don’t want to feel like this anymore, I don’t want to be so bloody scared all the time” He dissolved into hiccups and sobs, and anything else was too quiet to hear over that. 

The sound rang in Tuon’s ears. Matrim rarely cried around her. He preferred to drown his emotions in drink, only letting them through in moments of safety when they were alone and usually after she confronted him. He had been acting somewhat strangely lately, but it wasn’t his usually variety of strange. He hadn’t been out for a night of dicing in a while, had not come back drunk, but had been disappearing for hours at a time. He was getting thinner, skipping meals, not sleeping well. He was quick to anger, always getting his back up when confronted about something, however harmless it had been. And paranoid about his belongings. He kept his _ashandarei_ within his sights, or in his hands, absentmindedly fingering the engravings. Every time she had tried to talk about his behavior, he found a reason to avoid the discussion. 

She backed away from the wall, resolving to return to her bed and wait. Matrim would tell her what was wrong when he was ready. If she pressured him, she might only get part of the story, and the information he reluctantly gave could range from unhelpful to plain lies for the sake of avoidance. This sort of thing had happened before, on occasion, and it was always best for both of them if she didn’t confront him. 

The fresh memory of wracked, muffled sobs followed her back to her rooms, echoing around in her head as she tried to sleep. Rain continued to pound the windows. _Trust takes time_ , she thought to herself, finally drifting off. _He must learn I can be trusted, must learn to trust me. But trust cannot be forced._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussions of illness, anxiety, and depression.


	6. flare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it scary because you forgot, or because it's true?
> 
> This chapter is 6th chronologically.

_Where am I?_

Mat sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. He hadn’t had a specific dream, not exactly, more like a general feeling. He was running from something, the panic of unseen eyes watching him from dark corners, nowhere safe to go, nobody could be trusted. The soft scrape of metal against boiled leather, a dagger slid in and out of its sheath, echoed in his mind. He felt sick. Lightning flashed through the massive windows of the bedchamber, and he remembered something. 

* * *

 He was with Rand, a world away, an Age ago. They were in a storeroom in the back of an inn in Andor, backed into a corner, no way out. Rain poured down outside. Better to stay the night in an unfamiliar place than sleep under a hedge in that sort of thunderstorm. Someone was at the door - Mat didn’t remember his name, just a face, and that he was a Darkfriend. One of the first they had encountered. He could feel the panic creeping up his spine, the weight of the dagger in his clenched fist, hear his heartbeat in his skull despite the rain on the roof. The crash of a body hitting wood, the scrape of rust against floorboards as the door was forced open despite the wedge Rand had found. There was no way out. Another crash, the door slid open a little farther, the shrill sound covered by a crash of thunder. The window was barred, their only exit blocked. The panic crept higher. Then there was light. So much light. 

* * *

 Mat didn’t remember much after that. He touched his face, feeling the smooth socket where his left eye had been, examining the blurry outlines of his hands. He was shaking. He breathed slowly, deeply, trying to calm his his body’s reaction to his mind. In the corner of his vision he could see Tuon’s shadowy form, deep in sleep. He didn’t want to bother her. She didn’t know about his memories. Grabbing in the dark for a shirt, he limped out of the apartments. 

A few moments later he was outside of Min’s doors, still shaking. Nausea sat deep in his belly, panic tensed his shoulders, his fists closed around the phantom of a hilt. He could almost feel the wire wrapping on his palms. The flash of lightning through the windows in the hall made him jump. _Breathe, focus on breathing_. He knocked. A sleepy Min answered after a minute.

“Min, I uh… I-I had another dream.”

“Second time this week,” Min sighed, opening the door so Mat could enter. He followed her into her bedchamber, far smaller than his own but spacious by any other standards. The stand-lamps were lit, and a tall, dark-haired man was sprawled on the mattress. Rand, in his new body. Mat had forgotten he was here. _He might as well know, he might be able to do something to help with all those extra memories he's got now._

“Mat!” Rand called out, sitting up on his elbows. His voiced changed in tone once he saw the fear written all over his friend’s face. “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

“You remember that dagger I picked up from Shadar Logoth, back when we first left the Two Rivers?”

“Of course I do. You got so sick.” Rand frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“That whole journey we made together, all the memories I lost because of that bloody dagger, they’re starting to come back.” Mat swallowed the nausea back down. _Breathe._

“It started suddenly, a few months back,” Min chimed in. “Dreams, feelings, flashbacks.”

“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I feel like there’s someone following me, watching me from every dark corner…” Tears sprung into Mat’s eye as he sat down on the mattress. Rand shifted into an upright position, setting a hand on Mat’s shoulder.

“What was it this time?”

“An inn we were at, somewhere in Andor. We got backed into a corner by some Darkfriends.” He opened his palms in his lap, watching his hands shake. _Keep breathing._ “They were going to break through the door, the window was barred. There wasn’t any way out.” A sob wracked his shoulders. 

“Four Kings.” Rand clenched his teeth, scrubbing a hand through his hair, and Min shot him a confused glance. “The first time Darkfriends really found us, after everyone got separated. We were cornered in the storeroom of an inn called The Dancing Cartman, along the Caemlyn Road. I called down lightning without realizing what I was doing, blowing a hole in the building and killing the Darkfriends. We escaped, but Mat was blinded by the flash, for a time.”

“The dagger, I remember the dagger most of all. I was always on edge, I couldn’t trust anyone, all because of that bloody dagger and my wool-headed decision to take it.” Mat’s voice got louder and louder as he spoke, the last few words coming out in a howl. He choked out another sob around the ever-larger lump in his throat. 

Min already knew about the dagger, about how sick it had made him, about the holes in his memory it had left. The first time he had dreamed about it he had fled to her in a panic. She was the only person around he could trust with his secrets, and he felt as if he might burst if he had to suffer alone with his thoughts. 

“I thought we had solved this… The Aes Sedai Healed him, a while ago.” Rand bit his lip in concentration. “They broke his connection with the dagger and the taint of Shadar Logoth. They couldn’t manage to destroy it, they were not strong enough, didn’t know how.”

“Light, it burned.” Mat whispered to himself, voice distorted by phlegm and bile and fear. “Like I was covered in molten, frozen iron. It didn’t feel like I was being healed. Felt more like I was being ripped apart.”

“But it was destroyed?” Min asked.

“Not then, but later, yes. It’s definitely gone now. The whole city is gone, and so is its taint. That dagger was the last remnant, but when Padan Fain died during the Last Battle, the last of the taint died with him”

“I don’t think it matters if it’s destroyed or not.” Mat coughed, clearing his throat. “They couldn’t fix it all the way. I remember that clearly, at least. Oh, Light, Min… What do I do? I don’t want to feel like this anymore, I don’t want to be so bloody scared all the time.” Min held him as he cried. 

“Maybe this is just the healing process.” Rand continued to chew his lip. “In the Age of Legends we could never Heal illnesses of the mind, just sense them. All of your memories are reemerging, finally, so it’s possible this is temporary.”

“Should we send for Nynaeve? She can Heal things like this, can’t she?” Min rubbed Mat’s back in an attempt to sooth him.

“I suppose it’s worth a try. Or send Mat to her, that might be easier, considering the Seanchan opinion of Channelers…”

Mat drowned out their conversation, focusing on his breathing, trying to stop himself from crying. He hiccuped with every second breath. _In, out. Light, hold it together_. Min’s heartbeat was steady through her skin, grounding him. He couldn’t convince himself it was only a dream because it wasn’t. Everything he remembered had really happened to him, but so long ago. Practically another lifetime. But why was it all coming back now? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of past trauma, illness, anxiety, depression, paranoia, and insomnia.


	7. confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interlude

Every morning there’s a moment of complete confusion. Every morning, a dream slips away, a dream of something forgotten. Or a life long past, a life that belonged to another. It always feels real. There is always confusion. 

Some days the confusion is more like fear. A fear of the unknown, of what will happen, of who survives. 

Other days it is more like the confusion of being in a unfamiliar place. For a moment, everything is _wrong_. Nothing is where it should be. After a moment, reality floods back, and everything makes sense. But none of it is _right_.


	8. respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stolen moment, a stolen dialogue. 
> 
> This chapter is 1st chronologically.

“How did you lose your eye?”

“I lost a bet, in a way. I lost a bet to keep a promise.”

Tuon laid her hand on Mat’s left check, his head in her lap. With the world still in chaos, so soon after the last battle, these quiet moments were hard to find and highly treasured. 

“But I thought you never lost bets. That you were lucky, impossibly lucky.”

“I was, but not always. And I made this bet before I got the luck. But it wasn’t a fair bet, anyway, so it’s no wonder I lost.”

“What was the promise you made? The one that made you lose the bet?”

“I promised to help save the world. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I promised to help save someone who had saved me a dozen times over, even though I didn’t really know it yet, and she helped save the world.”

Mat rested his hand on top of Tuon’s, the warmth of her palm against his skin reassuring. 

“I suppose, in a way, I also won the bet. By keeping the promise. But I lost my eye, still. Half the light in the world to save the world, that’s what they said I would have to pay. I didn’t know what it meant when I accepted the deal. And I paid the bloody price.”

“Was it worth it?”

“It was. For what we have now, I would have given up all the light in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of injury.


	9. pathology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes words are the biggest barrier. 
> 
> This chapter is 5th chronologically.

The dark sky began to flush pink around the edges. A songbird landed on the balcony railing, looking through the open door and twittering aimlessly before flying off again. Mat was splayed haphazardly in an armchair with a large leather-bound book in his lap. He yawned, stretching carefully as to keep the book from sliding to the floor. _Dawn, again? How many nights has it been since I slept? I should go to bed._

The book was Loial’s latest, an in-depth discussion of the Dragon’s rise to power. Mat had consulted with him on some of it, sending a few letters about the early part his and Rand’s journey, at least what he could remember from it. The story was one Mat already knew, for the most part, but reading it was interesting nonetheless. He was just getting to the part about Tear and the Stone, having spent most of the night just getting to that point. Loial had somehow managed to get a very accurate account of the time Rand had spent in the Aiel Waste. Did Loial know Rand was still alive? Had Rand provided him that information for the book? Mat wasn’t sure, but it was likely. He was one of the only others who knew about that time, and Loial hadn’t asked for any information about the Waste. 

But it was not the book that was keeping him awake. Try as he might, he would spend most nights tossing and turning. Being productive was better than keeping Tuon awake, so he read instead. Or went down to the garden near the guard’s quarters, where a practice ground had been set up, to train with his _ashandarei_ or quarterstaff. Beating a few of the Seanchan guards soundly was satisfying, and the workout usually left him tired enough to sleep deeply for a time. And if none of the guards wanted to practice (some had been beaten several times before and had no desire to try again), he would walk the city, just another face in the crowd.

When he did sleep, his mind filled with dreams he did not want to have. Dreams about running from Darkfriends, about his friends dying, about paranoia and uncertainty. About that bloody dagger. So he didn’t sleep. Eventually, he would just fall unconscious, avoiding the dreams entirely. 

A second bird landed on the balcony, louder than the first. Tuon rolled over in bed, trying to cover her head with a blanket to avoid the noise. She was sleeping late, for her usual schedule. Some party with dignitaries had run into the early morning, and she had stumbled back to their apartments a little drunk. Mat had not attended the party. He was never told not to come, but he wasn’t told to show up, either. It was probably for the best. He wasn’t great company these days. Tuon groaned and rose to a seated position, cradling her head in her hands. 

“A little too much last night? Should I get you some _kaf_?”

“What did you say?” She looked up at him, squinting through the sunbeams just starting to stream in through the windows. The bird on the balcony called again, and she flinched at the sharp sound. 

“I said, would you like some _kaf_?” He tried not to be too loud. Her head was probably pounding. She never did handle alcohol well, and he didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she already did. 

“Matrim, what are you… Are you speaking in the Old Tongue?”

“No, Tuon, why would I…” He paused, trying to tell what his own voice sounded like. It was difficult to pay attention. The weariness had just hit him, now that he had lost his focus on reading. “Blood and ashes, am I? I’m certainly not trying to. I can’t tell if I am or not.”

“Where did you learn to speak the Old Tongue so fluently? If you expect me to understand you, you must speak more slowly.” Tuon scrubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“I didn’t learn, really, I just sort of… knew.” _Light, why is this happening? I’m so tired. I’ve been awake for… How long now? 2 days? I don’t want to explain this to Tuon right now._ He rose, marking his place in the book with a stray piece of paper, and flopped face-down in the bed. His limbs were heavy and jelly-like at the same time. 

“Are you alright?” Tuon spoke haltingly, her Seanchan accent making her Old Tongue speech all that much more garbled. 

“I can understand you, still. I think I’m just tired. I’ll say things accidentally, sometimes, I guess this is part of it.” He was babbling, thoughts scrambled. His eyes hurt, and all he wanted was to let sleep overtake him. Maybe if he slept, his brain would switch back and he would stop speaking in the Old Tongue without trying to. 

“All I understood from that is that you can understand me and that you’re tired, and then something about an accident.” She spoke normally again, but her tone was not equal parts confusion and tiredness. Leaning over, she rubbed his back. He sighed, leaning into her comforting touch. 

“How… about… now?” Mat concentrated, fighting through his desire to fall unconscious. This was usually about how long he could go before his body forced him to sleep. He would have gone to bed hours ago if not for the book. And the dreams. 

“Now you’re back to normal.”

“Good. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Were you up all night again?”

“Yes.” He mumbled into a pillow as he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. _Tuon’s still confused, but I’ll tell her later. After I sleep._

“Matrim, is everything alright?”

“I’ll tell you later. Sleep now.” Before Tuon had an opportunity to decipher his mumbling, he was snoring.


	10. disappoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interlude

The bed shifted as she climbed out.

“Matrim?”

_Another day, another set of princely duties I don’t care about. Another disappointing day. Another day of bloody useless nonsense._

“Matrim, get up, I need you to-“

_Maybe if I lay here she’ll think I’m sleeping and leave me alone for another hour. Not like I slept any all night. Don’t make me get up. Light, what is she going on about?_

“Are you awake?” She sighed. 

_Now she’s upset. Leave me here, I’m no help to you anyway._

Her footsteps grew quieter as she padded across the room.

_I’m a disappointment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for depression.


	11. the salvation of new scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is harder. 
> 
> This chapter is 7th chronologically.

The uneven light from the single candle Mat had lit reflected off of the mirror he stood in front of, bathing the room in an eerie yellow glow. Shadows exaggerated the darkness under his eyes. It was late, again, and Tuon was already asleep in the adjacent room. He had gone down to the guard’s quarters to spar for a while, only coming back to the apartments after running out of willing opponents. His original intention was to change out of his sweaty clothes and wash up before falling unconscious. But the reflection of his body in the mirror in the bath chamber had caught his attention. 

A sheen of sweat covered his skin, beading at his temples. The scars that crossed his body glared silver in the dim light, contrasting with his tan skin. There were so many of them. The harsh line encircling his neck. The clean, smooth socket where his left eye had been. A deep gauge in his arm from the day he had beheaded Couladin. Some scratches on his legs where a bush full of thorns had caught him as he ran from Hinderstap, chased by murderous villagers. Irregular dots marking deep punctures in his gut. Long gashes across his torso where he had caught the knives and swords of his foes. Too many small scars to count, their causes forgotten. Too many marks from his childhood, erased from his skin from the touch of the Power, replaced. Tuon liked to trace them with her fingertips, memorizing each break in his skin through her touch. He could almost feel her fingers skating across his skin, sending waves of shivers down his body. More often of late he didn’t want to be touched, wanted to shy away from the comfort Tuon offered him, from the comfort she sought with him. 

His ribs were outlined by shadows, one a little crooked from when it had broken during the Seanchan invasion. There was no way to notice that until recently. He had lost a lot of weight, skin stretched tight over taught muscle and sharp bones. Lately he felt weak, but he wasn’t sure if it was from a lack of sleep or a lack of eating. Or both. Beating the guards to a pulp was still fairly easy, but the exercise tired him more than it had in the past. He felt less like a soldier training for an eventual battle and more like a starved child in the streets, fighting to survive. 

The angles of his body were alien, uncomfortable to look at. The things his body had done were alien, uncomfortable to think about. Even if it had been for the greater good, for saving the world. He wished half-heartedly that the marks would vanish, their histories vanishing with them, but he knew they couldn’t. And who would he be, in the end, without these marks? Without this history? His memories told him the stories of thousands of others, spread through time, who had done the exact same thing he was doing now. Stood in front of a mirror, naked as the day they were born, contemplating what war had done to their bodies and minds. Thousands of other scar-streaked bodies and damaged minds. 

What the memories didn’t tell him was how to work past the trauma of war, how to make peace with a body that had caused so much death and destruction and a mind that had encouraged it. How to feel whole in a skin that had been torn to ribbons. 

_Maybe Rand and Min were right, maybe I should go to Nynaeve_. He folded his arms across his chest and shifted anxiously on the cold tile floor, suddenly embarrassed by his own staring. _But what could she do? If this is just my mind healing, she won’t be able to help. Will knowing that help me? Knowing that I just have to endure this, probably not. Knowing that there isn’t anything wrong with me again, that it’s my own bloody mind and not the influence of anyone or anything else… Maybe._ The sweat drying on his skin made the room feel cold. But there was something approaching a decision forming in his mind, the closest thing to a definite thought he had had in in days. Crossing the room to stand in front of an open closet, he reached for a shirt, not caring which one his hand found. A pair of pants, some boots. Eyepatch and scarf. 

Out one door and through another he found some paper and a pen on a writing desk. He scratched a quick note, sealed it with some wax and a thumbprint, grabbed his _ashandarei_ , and left. 

* * *

_Tuon,_

_I’ve gone to go visit some friends. I’m okay. I’ll be back in a few days._

_Don’t send anyone looking for me. Please._

_Mat_

* * *

Mat stepped out of a gateway, from the thick humid air of Ebou Dar to the crisp, early fall chill of Emond’s Field. The Power-wrought doorway closed behind him and he turned, his eye settling on the young Andoran woman who was tending the traveling ground.

“Can I give you directions to anywhere, sir?” She didn’t know him. “An inn? The Winespring is quite nice, and Mistress al’Vere is a wonderful cook. Though I’m not sure they’ll be awake this late.” The small room was lit by a white globe floating near the ceiling, probably some working of the Power. But the windows let in streams of moonlight. 

“Thanks, but no. What I need is a gateway to Tar Valon.” The woman, in the banded dress of an Accepted, narrowed her eyes at his request. But those eyes shifted to the spot left empty by the closing gateway. A thin line of light sprung into existence, spreading open to create a new gateway. The air was suddenly colder, and Mat stepped through, waving his thanks to the Accepted as the new gateway closed on his heels. 

Mat hadn’t been to Tar Valon in over a year, but the city did not change quickly. The traveling grounds were now a long, low stone building, but aside from continuing repairs there was very little new construction. After hearing his request, a novice led him through a maze of walkways to the main entrance to the White Tower. Normally visitors wouldn’t be let in this late at night. But Matrim Cauthon wasn’t just anyone. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was well-known and well-respected in the right circles. 

He was passed from one novice to another, and led upwards through the Tower. It was just as cold inside as it was out, and Mat was regretting not wearing anything warmer. He hadn’t thought about it, really, just threw on what he had. A thin shirt was appropriate for Ebou Dar this time of year, but it was well into fall this far north. By the time he was led through the doors of the Yellow Ajah’s quarters, he was shivering, hands in his armpits. The novice left him outside a wide wooden door, motioning him to wait for her return. She knocked, once, twice, loudly, then entered, pulling the door shut behind her. Mat rubbed his arms with his hands, dancing from foot to foot. _Blood and ashes, can they hurry it up? I’m freezing. And tired. Maybe this wasn’t a good plan after all._

The door opened a crack and the novice slipped out, gliding past Mat’s attempt to get her attention with the grace of an Aes Sedai. Well, almost. The fear on her face gave her away. Maybe Nynaeve had given her the rough side of her Wisdom’s tongue for being woken up so abruptly. Before the door could thump shut, a large hand caught it, pushing it open. Lan’s head poked out, his expression as blank as ever. 

“Mat Cauthon? What are you doing here?” There was a hint of surprise in the Warder’s voice. At Mat’s sudden appearance in the dead of night or his tired, disheveled appearance, Mat wasn’t sure. Probably both. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year, since the Last Battle ended and everything had been sorted out.

“Light, Lan, let me in.” Mat’s teeth started to chatter. “It’s freezing out here. I’ll explain, I promise.” The door was swung a little wider and Mat shuffled past Lan, sitting down heavily on the floor in front of the fireplace. Rooms in the White Tower were neither spacious or ornate, but each Aes Sedai left her own touch on her space. Nynaeve’s sitting room contained a pair of plush couches facing a large fireplace, several large bookcases packed with leather-bound tomes, shelves filled with herbs in elaborate jars, and not much else. A simple woolen rug, which Mat was sprawled on, covered most of the floor. 

“Matrim Cauthon, what are you…” Nynaeve trailed off once she saw Mat, lying on her floor in front of her fire, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week and hadn’t eaten in two. “Mat, what happened? Are you okay?” She was wearing a deep yellow robe and a pair of well-worn felt slippers, her hair tied back in her characteristic braid. 

“No, not really. I was hoping you could help.” Mat rubbed his hands together, smiling weakly. “After I warm up. I had forgotten how quickly it gets cold here.”

Nynaeve vanished into the other room, returning a moment later with a thick woolen blanket. She gestured to Mat to sit up and draped the blanket over his shoulders. _It feels like Emond’s Field. When you’re cold and complaining about it because you’re not smart enough to put on a sweater, your ma gives you the itchiest blanket in the house. When you’re sick, you go to the Wisdom, and she dotes on you like your ma but frowns at you the whole time._ Nynaeve dropped down opposite Mat, her features thick with worry. 

“You look awful.”

“I feel like someone ran me over with a horsecart. You remember the dagger I picked up in Shadar Logoth, what happened?”

“I don’t want to. But I do.”

“The memories I lost are coming back. Dreams, really terrifying dreams. I don’t have energy. I feel like people are watching me from around every corner. It’s awful, and I don’t know why it’s happening. The taint from the dagger is gone, has been since the Last Battle.” Mat didn’t meet Nynaeve’s eyes, preferring to stare blankly at his hands in his lap. _Focus on breathing. She needs to know if she’s going to help._ He closed his hands into fists and opened them again. _At least I’m not shaking again._  

Nynaeve sighed and reached out a hand, pushing her fingers gingerly into Mat’s temple. She frowned in concentration, focusing on something unseen around Mat’s head. Some time passed. Mat wasn’t sure how long, but he was steadily growing impatient. She must have been doing something with the Power, not that he had any indication. The silver foxhead mediation he had worn had been given to the White Tower after the Last Battle, its purpose fulfilled. Mat knew the Aes Sedai would keep it safe, and they were desperate to get ahold of any objects of the Power. 

“What do you see, Nynaeve Sedai? Are there invisible birds trying to nest in my hair?”

“You still have some of that insufferable wit. That’s good. But be quiet for a minute so I can concentrate.”

Lan was leaning causally in the doorframe that led to what Mat presumed was the bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at Nynaeve intently, concern breaking through his stony facade. _He seems… happier? No, at least more content. More at ease. I don’t think the man can make an expression others would read as ‘happy,’ never mind smile. He doesn’t have that knot of tension in his shoulders we all had, worrying over what was going to happen to us._ Nynaeve sighed in frustration, breaking Mat’s train of thought. 

“Well, it’s not the taint, or anything like it.”

“What is it then?”

“Kind of a…” She gestured vaguely with her free hand. “A fog, maybe? Grayish, not black and sticky like the Taint was on any of the Asha’man. It doesn’t so much have a hold over you as it’s… being created by you, maybe. It’s not something someone else is doing, I can tell you that much for sure.”

Mat let out a breath. Knowing made him feel better and worse in equal parts. Nobody else was manipulating him, nobody was watching him from the shadows or plotting against him. But that still wasn’t a definite response to _why_ this was happening. Nynaeve met his eyes, having caught his array of emotions as they passed across his face. 

“Give me another minute. I’ve never seen something like this before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t figure out what to do.” She pressed her other hand against Mat’s head, holding him steady. He had nowhere to look but at her face. Her Aes Sedai agelessness was finally starting to appear, but she still looked definitively young. She still looked, to Mat, like Nynaeve, the Wisdom of Emond’s Field, not Nynaeve Sedai of the Yellow Ajah. She, too, was more relaxed than she had been last time Mat had seen her. _Light, am I the only one still having trouble, a year later? Is everyone really okay now, and I’m flailing around like a newborn babe?_ She continued to look past him, through him, as if he wasn’t really there. He knew she was looking at some threads of the power, having Delved into his mind, finding something he could only hope to imagine. More time passed, Nynaeve deep in concentration, Mat deep in thought. 

Suddenly, Mat felt as if a weight had been lifted from his mind, a weight he had not realized was there. He still felt a little… fuzzy around the edges. A tinge of anxiety remained, as did his reluctance to fall asleep, especially now that his exhaustion had hit him full-force. _What did she do? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, but this doesn’t feel complete. I still feel… bad. Just not as bad as before._ Nynaeve released his head, slouching over. 

“I couldn’t get rid of it all the way. There are some things I just don’t understand how to Heal, things I haven’t seen before. Whatever is going on in your head isn’t something I can get rid of. It just… keeps appearing, slowly, no matter how much I manage to remove. It really does look a lot like fog, and I can’t manage to burn it all off.”

“I feel better though. Thank you for doing what you did, at least.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this before, something that keeps regenerating. Most knowledge of illnesses of the mind was lost long ago. But I’ll do some snooping and let you know if I find anything. There are a few Browns I trust to keep this quiet.”

“Having to come back here every few weeks would be less than ideal. I had to sneak away from Tuon to get here, took a gateway to Emond’s Field and then another here.” Weak rays of sunlight were just beginning to stream in from the doorway where Lan still stood. It was dawn, and Mat had been sitting on Nynaeve’s floor for a period of hours. Time passed strangely when someone was rummaging through your head. 

“Don’t go back yet, I might find something quickly. You look as if you’d fall over if I let you leave anyway. Stay here for the day, there’s no reason for anyone else to know you’re here.” Nynaeve rose, weary but steady, reaching down to help Mat up. He stumbled, then fell backwards onto one of the couches. “Stay there, sleep for a while. I’ll have one of the novices bring you something to eat later.”

Mat didn't have the energy to protest. He curled up, falling almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. The first in so long. 

* * *

Several hours later, Mat awoke to the rhythmic sound of a whetstone on a sword. Lan sat on the opposite couch, absentmindedly working and watching Mat out of the corner of his eye. Mat felt… rested? The sensation was foreign. 

“Good. You’re awake. I’ll get a novice to bring some food for you.”

“But I’m not-“ Mat’s stomach growled. “Okay, maybe I am.” He stretched and yawned, his joints cracking.

“Thought so.” 

Lan set the sword down gingerly and vanished into the hall. Several minutes later he returned, not only with a tray of food but with a stack of books and Nynaeve, buried under a pile of books of her own. Mat grabbed the tray from Lan’s outstretched arm as he walked past. The smell of food was intoxicating after not having an appetite for so long. Several thick slices of roast beef soaked in gravy, half a baked squash covered in butter, and a pile of fresh rolls. Mat dipped one of the rolls in the gravy and took a bite, chewing it slowly. _Light, I know the food here is good, but this actually has flavor. I forgot that food was supposed to taste like something._

“So what’s in all of those books?” Chewing muffled his question, but he assumed Nynaeve could still understand him. He was reluctant to stop eating in order to carry out a conversation. Not with all the food in front of him. He swallowed and took another bite of the roll.

“Information on illnesses of the mind. All I could find, or all my Brown friends could find, in the entirety of the library!” She scowled and dropped the books heavily onto a table. “It’s barely anything. The books I’ve leafed through so far have been almost devoid of relevant information. At most, an entry or two describing how to Delve into someone’s mind and recognize if there is an illness, but not what it means or how to Heal it. Here, help me with this.” She handed Mat a thick tome, the title embossed into the leather cover illegible with age. “Tell me if you find anything you think is important.”

He set it on the cushion next to him and leafed through it while he ate, careful not to spill anything onto its hair-thin pages. Pages full of nothing Mat understood - descriptions of how to use the Power to recognize and Heal all kinds of illnesses and injuries. But an hour later, remaining gravy congealing on the plate, he flipped the book closed. Nynaeve’s prediction was right. Nothing. 

The trio spent the remainder of the afternoon and most of the evening scouring the texts. Mat dozed on and off, the dry writing pulling him towards sleep. He felt more awake and alert than he had in weeks, but exhaustion creeped through his bones. His body nagged at him, reminding him of all the sleep he had lost over the last months. A novice brought up dinner for the three of them, somehow informed of Mat’s presence. Sometime after dusk Nynaeve fell asleep face down in a book, and Lan got her to go to bed, her protests half-hearted. A few hours later, Lan followed. 

This continued through most of the next day, Nynaeve stopping occasionally to Delve into Mat’s mind. Nothing was changing, not quickly, and he felt the same. A little fuzzy around the edges. Nynaeve said the fog was still there. Late in the afternoon, Nynaeve closed the last book with a thump, sighing and scowling. 

“Nothing! Two whole days and nothing to show for it.”

“That’s not entirely true…” _It is. Well, besides Healing me partially._

“There might have been knowledge about this once. Now it’s all lost. So many people I could help, if not for that.”

“You’ll just have to discover it all over again.” Lan laid a large hand on Nynaeve’s shoulder, a smidge of pride on his face. She placed her hand over his, some of her frustration evaporating. 

_I should leave soon, it’s been two days. Tuon’s patience won’t hold out much longer._ Mat slipped on his boots and grabbed his _ashandarei_ from where it sat by the door, along with a small travel sack containing the clothes he arrived in, laundered and folded. Nynaeve had sent him for a bath the day before, and one of the Tower servants had found a change of warmer clothes for him. Not nearly as fine as even the plain clothes Mat had worn, but warm and well-fitting despite being second- or third-hand. 

“Wait, before you leave…” Nynaeve walked over to her shelves of herbs, pulling down jars and scoops and bags. She muttered to herself, spinning jars around, opening and closing lids, and after a few minutes had filled a handful of waxed cloth bags with an assortment of ingredients Mat didn’t recognize. Not that he had ever paid much attention to the Wisdom’s remedies. She slipped them into the travel sack Mat was holding. 

“I labeled them, you’ll forget which one is which even if I tell you. They’re all meant for tea. Add as much sugar as you like, that tradition of medicine being foul-tasting is nonsensical. One is for dreamless sleep, but be careful not to make it too strong or you’ll wake up drowsy. One is for your appetite. There are two different mixes for anxiety, one is much stronger but will make you feel like you’re drunk, so use it sparingly. And something for pain. It’s not very strong, but it won’t have any unintended effects. I can’t do much more, but I hope that helps.”

Mat gathered Nynaeve into a hug, the strongest he could manage with his arms full of his belongings. He was surprised at himself, so loathe to be affectionate of late, but the touch was comforting. Nynaeve was familiar and safe. She was the village Wisdom, always ready to help you when you were sick. And after all their travels, a dear friend. 

“Thank you for this. All of it. It’s more than I expected. More than I deserve.”

“It’s less than you deserve, Matrim Cauthon.” Her voice was tinged with defiance. “You deserve happiness, Mat. You’ve helped to ensure the rest of us have a chance at it. If I could do anything more for you, I would.” She held him at arm’s length by the shoulders, fire in her eyes. 

Lan reached out a hand and Mat took it warmly. 

“Take care of yourself, gambler.”

“You too.”

He left, easily finding a novice willing to walk him to the traveling ground. But when he arrived at the low stone building, instead of asking for a gateway to Ebou Dar, he had the Accepted make one to Emond’s Field. He owed Perrin a visit, an explanation of why he hadn’t been keeping in touch. His parents too. _Tuon will wait another day, probably, and if she does send someone after me, the first place she’ll look is the Two Rivers. Might as well convince whoever comes to get me I’ve been there all along._

* * *

The guards didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Mat in the Tarasin Palace, striding down hallways and up staircases towards the royal apartments. He had been gone for almost 4 days, leaving without warning and returning with even less. The two stoic guardsmen outside the wooden doors to the rooms Mat and Tuon shared didn’t even look in his direction. They merely let him pass, let him open the doors under his own power. He looked like he had somewhere to be. He did. They didn’t want to interrupt that. 

Tuon was in the sitting room, reading by lamplight. The book was large in her lap, one of the drafts Loial had sent to Mat. He had been meaning to send the Ogier a letter with his comments but hadn’t found the energy for it. But the book wasn’t the object of his concern. The small woman, always so elegant and composed, had a startling array of emotions flashing across her face. Surprise, relief, confusion, curiosity, worry, anger. Cold anger. She closed the book silently, setting it down next to her. But Mat interrupted the tirade she had undoubtedly planned. He grinned, a classic Mat Cauthon grin, the one that made women blush, friends laugh, and angry lovers forgive. Or, at least, consider forgiving. 

“You can’t hold a man to blame for what he does when he’s crazy, can you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for nudity, scars, discussion of war, past injury, past trauma, depression, and anxiety.

**Author's Note:**

> I probably would not have written this fic if not for the Big Bang. Thanks a bunch to everyone who organized the event, and to those who participated. 
> 
> While not necessary to read, this fic falls in the same post-AMoL universe as my other Wheel of Time fics. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr (porous-membrane) and on twitter (@sparkle_rock).
> 
> EDIT 11/17/16: pmendicant did some [really great art for this fic.](http://pmendicant.tumblr.com/post/152492571294/mat-has-a-bad-day-some-art-for-porous-membranes) Check out the rest of their work!
> 
> I also made [a short playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/mizzymouse/playlist/27CwW0cEjtVi6bV4w6dKeM?play=true&utm_source=open.spotify.com&utm_medium=open) of some of my favorite sad and angry music that goes really well with all of this.


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